Tomorrow I’m buying a real lock. And I’m writing his full name. Finally.

| Entry # | Title / First Line | Key Content | |---------|--------------------|--------------| | 14 | "H. left a note in my locker. ‘You’re not crazy.’" | Emily and H. begin a secret exchange. She falls for him. | | 19 | "I stole my mother’s Valium. Just to feel quiet." | Mental health declines. She starts drawing eyes in the margins. | | 23 | "The footprints are back. H. says it’s the wind. It’s not wind." | H. gaslights her. Reader begins to suspect H. is the intruder. | | 27 | "I found a key. Not for my diary. For something else." | Mystery object introduced. She hides it in the oak tree. | Tone: Chaotic, short sentences, cross-outs, stains.

I taped a strand of hair across my diary lock. When I came home, it was broken. Not cut. Broken, like someone was angry.

[Bottom of page, in different ink, smaller handwriting]: No. Don’t. He’ll know.

| Entry # | Title / First Line | Key Content | |---------|--------------------|--------------| | 30 | "H. knows things he shouldn’t. About the key." | Paranoia peaks. She stops sleeping. | | 35 | "I wrote a letter to no one. Burned it. The smoke spelled ‘run.’" | Possible hallucination or real threat. | | 41 | "Tonight I’ll hide the diary. If you’re reading this – don’t look for me." | Last coherent entry. | | 44 | [Three pages torn out] | Only a single word remains on the stub: "Him." | Tone: Clinical, forensic, adult.

H. laughed when I told him. “You’re so poetic,” he said. But his hands were in his pockets the whole time. What was he hiding?

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